Too Much Too Young
by skag trendy
Summary: A belated birthday fic for Carocali! Happy Birthday! Sam’s been burning the candle at both ends and his family is too busy to notice.
1. Chapter 1

**Too much too young**

_**Sam's been burning the candle at both ends and his family is too busy to notice.**_

_**Sick Sammy aged 15, guilty/protective Dean age 19.**_

_**Guilty John.**_

_**Warnings: some phlegm and bad language, 'cos it's me!**_

_**Author's notes:**_

**A belated birthday fic for Carocali. Enjoy, my darling.**

**Many thanks to Phx for the beta... and don't think I've forgotten your birthday fic for next month, babes...**

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I stay at home this time?" Sam asked quietly. A quiet voice meant his throat didn't hurt quite so much. "I don't…"

"Nope, sorry kid. We've been through this already," John didn't even glance up from his newspaper, and he sure didn't sound all that apologetic. "We need you as back up." He cast a small smirk Sam's way. "Homework can wait."

"But Dad…" Sam tried again, frustrated no one was prepared to listen. He had no intention of doing his homework, but _did _have every intention of getting some much needed sleep before his pounding head exploded.

"Enough!" John ruffled the pages, then finally graced his youngest son with a fierce glare. "Whatever it is you feel is so important, can wait. People's lives are at stake," a quick snap of the newspaper emphasized his point, "and all you care about is passing some lousy test? Jeeze kid..."

Sam shook his head as the rant continued, and risked very brief eye contact with his older brother, who was slumped on the sofa, beer in one hand, TV remote in the other. Dean's only response was a small disinterested shrug before turning back to Starsky and Hutch.

That pretty much said it all.

_The John and Dean Winchester unit concur: Sam Winchester is indeed a selfish little brat._

Dean and Sam were going through a 'rocky patch'. Sharing a room the size of a broom closet would do that to even the most caring of saints, and after one too many 'have you seen my comb?', or 'dude, are you wearing my fucking _socks_ again?!' the brothers had almost come to blows before an angry John intervened, and threatened punishments on both sides if they didn't 'shut the hell up!'

So the brothers weren't talking.

Well. Beyond the usual 'pass the cereal' sometimes followed by 'get it your fucking self!' the brothers weren't talking. But a truce was nigh, Sam could have sworn it after last night. He'd woken up crying and shaking, unable to remember what he'd been running from, only to find Dean's arms wrapped round him, a hand gently stroking his scalp, his big brother's voice whispering softly to him. Sam had drifted back off into a peaceful slumber.

So a truce was on the cards, Sam was convinced. But it was going to need a little encouragement.

Nodding his head in resignation, Sam trudged off into their bedroom. He could do this one last hunt to help keep his family safe, to watch their backs, then _he would have to come clean._

He would have to come clean about the headaches, the painful sinuses, the aching joints. Sam would have to _own up_ to the dizziness, nausea and vomiting, the steadily rising temperature, and the shivering… yeah, that wasn't all down to the nightmare, though Dean had probably assumed it was.

In short, Sam felt like crap and needed a break.

The last few weeks had been a endless cycle of homework, hunts, revision, hunts, homework, hunts, test papers, revision… and yet another hunt. Sam estimated he'd managed a total of ten hours sleep in the last seven days, and it was wearing him down.

Any attempts at a deadline extension had been met with a stern lecture from a self-righteous teacher '_if you don't want to be kept back after school, boy, you'll complete the work on time'_.

Any attempts at a reprieve from a hunt, were shot down in flames by his father.

As for Dean… well, the brothers _weren't talking_.

Yet.

Sam hoped like hell that would come to an end tonight.

A few spare clothes, mostly T-shirts worn so thin there seemed little point in wearing them, followed by a tattered pair of hand-me-down jeans that once belonged to his brother, were thrown into Sam's duffle with little ceremony. A flashlight, complete with spare battery and bulbs, were shoved into a side pocket, and Sam's packing was done.

Sam licked his over-dry lips, and crept over to the door. A quick peek out into the main living area told him no one was likely to catch him in the act. Leaving the bedroom behind and closing the door with a soft click, Sam padded over to the bathroom and locked himself inside.

There was a small bottle of Tylenol in the cabinet over the sink, and Sam eagerly grabbed it with shaking hands. But, just _then_, he made the mistake of looking at his reflection in the mirror and grimaced at the dark circles under eyes now bright with fever, the sickeningly pale skin, and the faint sheen of perspiration gleaming under the dim bathroom light.

_How they hadn't noticed… _

Sam shook his head at that. They were all at loggerheads with each other. Living in such a tiny apartment, in such… _squalor…_ It was bound to cause friction between them. Only on a hunt would the Winchester family pull together and watch out for each other.

Those shaking hands grew shakier and silent tears slipped down Sam's flushed cheeks. He wasn't even sure why he was crying, though loneliness sure was willing to take the blame. There was literally no one he could communicate with, no one to share his fears and worries with. Dean ignored him, Dad didn't listen, and as for the kids at school…

Sam stared at himself in the mirror, Tylenol momentarily forgotten, watching the tears falling, and making no attempt to wipe them away.

"God… m'so pathetic…" he whispered, sadly. "They're both right about me, I _am_ selfish."

A watery smile emerged and Sam chuckled.

"'Selfish Sam'. That's what they'll call me," the chuckle turned into hysterical laughter. "Though Dean might call me 'Selfish Sammy'… maybe they'll put that on my tombstone!" Sam leaned into the mirror, grinning through his tears. "Huh? Here lies Selfish Sammy, a terrible son, crappy hunter, and world's worst little brother…"

A banging on the bathroom door startled him, and the Tylenol dropped to the floor with a _clack_ and rolled away, its contents rattling in disproval at the rough treatment.

"_Sam? Who you talking to? Your blow up doll? Hurry up and get the fuck out of there! I'm in need of a PHD!"_

Sam blinked a few times, and smirked. That was Dean talk for a _Pre-Hunt Dump_. Their father hadn't approved the first time he said it in full, so Dean continued to use the abbreviation instead.

"Uh… sure. Won't be much longer…" Sam croaked out, eyes searching the floor for the lifesaving Tylenol. His vision was blurring, head thumping with agony by the time he spotted it.

Sam bent down to retrieve the pill bottle. But when he stood upright again the blood drained away from his face. He swayed, valiantly fighting the encroaching darkness, but soon lost the battle.

As the world went upwards, the lights dimmed, and a sharp pain to the side of his head finished him off.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean had paid only vague attention to Sam's pleas. It wasn't the first time his kid brother had tried to stay home from a hunt, though Dean had to admit it didn't happen as often as their dad tried to make out.

But these last few weeks had been pretty tough on all the Winchesters. Sam wasn't the only one suffering from stress and lack of sleep. Both Dean and John worked appalling hours at the local grotty garage in the cold and freezing rain for a shit wage, whilst Sammy sat behind a desk in a nice warm classroom.

Dean snorted derisively. He had to be fair about it. Sam worked damn hard at school even with his Einstein-sized IQ, did all his homework, got the evening meal ready, took care of laundry, and even cleaned the weapons when asked without complaint. What their father didn't seem to realize was that Sam worked just as hard for the family, even when he made it perfectly clear he was unhappy with their lifestyle.

But Sam had been getting on his nerves ever since they moved into the one bed roomed apartment. There was no such thing as personal space, no way of escaping Sam's snoring, and worst of all, no breathing room. The slightest thing could spark off a fight.

Tempers were fraying easier than a badly made quilt, and Dean was on the verge of throttling his little brother. He stood up and stretched, feeling his joints give a multitude of satisfying cracks and clicks. The beer was working its magic as was the spicy beef taco he'd hastily scoffed on his way home from work, and the pending satisfaction of another nature was brewing, deep in his bowels.

"Yep. Time for a PHD!"

John's raised eyebrow was the only acknowledgment of that. The Winchester patriarch continued circling more newspaper articles in red ink.

Dean sighed and moved over to the bathroom. As much as he loved hunting, he hoped like hell tonight was the last for a while. He needed some serious fucking sleep, some serious fucking junk food, and some serious fu…

_Someone's in the bathroom. _

Dean frowned when he heard voices, and pressed an ear to the door. _A voice._

It sounded like Sam was talking to himself, and Dean might have found it funny if he hadn't caught the weird laughter and the strange whispering. In fact he couldn't make out what was being said, and strained his ears all the more.

_Still nothing but whispering._

Biting his lip, Dean wondered if his little brother was having some 'alone time'.

Well, it was about to end. 'Cause Dean's needs were greater.

The older brother thumped on the door, and smirked at the sound of something falling on the other side.

"Sam? Who you talking to? Your blow up doll? Hurry up and get the fuck out of there! I'm in need of a PHD!"

"_Uh… sure. Won't be much longer…"_

Dean frowned again at the reply. It sounded strained, like the kid had a sore throat or something. He stood back and waited for the door to open, arms folded and leaning against the wall.

A sickening crunch a second later had Dean pounding on the door yet again, but this time he was panicking.

"Sammy? You ok in there? C'mon little dude, open up!"

The disturbing silence had Dean rattling the door knob, frustration mounting when he realized his entry was barred.

"C'mon, Sammy, unlock the door, please?"

"What in God's name is going on?" A fuming John appeared beside Dean, body language suggestive of a full melt down.

"It's Sam," Dean pounding on the door and yanked on the door knob more viciously. "I think he might have brained himself or something, Dad. The doors locked, he's not answering…"

"Godammit!" John joined his eldest son by pounding on the door. "Sam! Open up right now! That's an order!" he thumped his fist against the wood before adding "if this is your way of getting out of tonight's hunt, it ain't gonna work!"

"Dad, I don't think he's faking," Dean responded with a shaky voice. "Can't we just pick the lock?"

John huffed and scrubbed a hand down his face. "I can't believe we're doing this; B&E our own bathroom… I'm so gonna kick that kid's ass for this!"

Dean retrieved the lock pick set from his duffle and set to work, his father standing by and watching with narrowed eyes. John might have been angry, but Dean could tell by the set of his jaw the guy was also beginning to worry. Sam was a stubborn little shit, but would he refuse to open the door just 'cause he was pissed? Possibly. But Dean was certain he would've at least answered their father's calls.

Come to think of it, Dean was also fairly certain Sam would've answered his brother's.

The lock was cheap and crappy, in keeping with the rest of the apartment, and came undone in seconds. Dean carefully pushed the door open, afraid of hitting Sam in the confined space, and gasped loudly at the sight of his little brother crumpled in a heap on the grimy floor and bleeding from a gash on the side of his head.

"Oh God, Sammy!"

Dean was already moving, pushing his way into the tiny bathroom and dropping to his knees beside the injured boy. Now that he was close, now that he was _paying attention_ it was obvious that Sam was sick. Real sick. The poor kid shivered harshly on the dirty tiles, face pale and bathed in sweat. "Sammy, can you hear me little bro?"

Sam was completely out, unable to answer, not even a soft moan or pained whimper, which made his family worry all the more.

John almost staggered under the sudden wave of guilt. It was _so obvious_ now. _This _– his baby boy, lying on some filthy motel bathroom floor – _this_ was why Sam tried to call off the hunt. And no one had taken the time to listen.

_How did I not notice he was sick? Just what kind of a bastard does that make me?_

_Answer? _

_A fucking HUGE bastard!_

But, huge bastard or not, there was time for that later. Sam needed help, and quickly.

"I think a trip to the ER is in order," John placed a cool hand on Sam's forehead, and winced. "Fever. And a bad one," he made a clicking noise with his tongue and whispered, sadly "So this is what you were trying to tell us, huh kid?"

A brief glance at his oldest boy told him Dean was thinking along the same lines. But Sam was already wrapped in his big brother's arms and being lifted effortlessly from the floor. A quick stop in the living area to tuck a threadbare blanket round the kid's unconscious form, and the Winchester's headed out, Sam's head pressed gently under Dean's chin.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

John drove with a steady hand, but his eyes kept sneaking a glimpse of his sons on the back seat. The rear view mirror was a little blurred from condensation when body heat met the sheer cold, but it couldn't hide the expression of utter despair and worry on Dean's face.

The older brother's comforting whispers barely reached John's ears over the noise of the heater, but it wouldn't have taken a genius to figure out the promises, the encouragements, and the pleas for Sam to _just_ _hold on. Stay with me. Everything's gonna be ok..._

"Dad, hurry!" Dean suddenly called out, desperately.

His little brother was getting worse. The kid was panting, wheezing, small whimpers of pain and suffering like knives through Dean's heart, head lolling helplessly over his older brother's shoulder.

Dean held him as tight as he dared when the youngster struggled weakly against him.

"I know, I know, Sammy. You're feeling pretty bad right now, but we're getting you some help, buddy. You're gonna feel so much better real soon."

"Almost there," John called back just as they passed through the gates of the local hospital. Screeching to a halt outside the ER, John jumped out and wrenched open the rear passenger door directly behind the driver's seat. Dean was already scrambling across, tugging Sam with him, and tightening his hold on the boy when he climbed out.

They broke into a run, Dean carrying his sick brother, John beside him, one hand on Sam's forehead. It must have made quite the formidable sight, the senior Winchesters striding their way across the waiting room, faces set in fierce and determined scowls. It certainly affected the sour faced receptionist, who immediately rounded her desk, stuck her head through the swinging doors and bellowed "Dr Middleton! You're needed out here!"

John opened and closed his mouth like a gold fish. "I didn't say a damn word!" he muttered in amazement.

Dean grinned weakly. "I guess she recognizes a bad ass when she sees one, huh?"

"D'n…"a small, tired voice croaked up at him. "Wha…?"

"Shhhh, its ok, runt," Dean whispered back. "We're at the hospital. They're gonna tuck you into a nice warm bed, and make you feel all better."

Glazed blue-greens blinked up at him, mouth working soundlessly.

"Just relax, son," John smiled down at the poor kid. "Let us take care of ya, like we shoulda done all along."

"Huh?" Sam slurred out, blinked, and lost consciousness again.

"Sammy, try to stay awake," Dean called, softly. He hated seeing his little brother like this, especially since he'd been giving the kid such a hard time lately. "C'mon kiddo, work with us here..."

The door to the ER swinging open had both senior Winchesters looking up into the dark gaze of a tall white coated guy with dark hair and sharp eyes.

"I'm Dr Middleton," he nodded at John, eyes softening at the sight of the young boy in Dean's arms. "And who do we have here?"

He ran a hand smoothly over Sam's hot forehead, and murmured softly when the youngster stirred and whimpered at the unfamiliar touch.

"Easy there boy," the doc whispered. "Nothing to be afraid of."

The Winchesters liked him immediately. It was that easy.

"S'my brother, S-sammy," Dean stuttered out, for some reason feeling like he was five years old again, carrying his baby brother from their burning home. "He's real sick. Gotta fever. We didn't know... he just collapsed in the bathroom and hit his head... _he never told us he was sick!_"

"Just relax," Doc Middleton carried on stroking Sam's forehead but smiled kindly at his older brother. "I know you're worried, but you need to calm down, son. Don't let your brother know how scared for him you really are. So long as you remain calm, so will he."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Everything was too bright, even behind his eyelids. Voices just overhead and around him phased in and out, and something kept prodding him.

"Naaahhhhh..." Sam moaned, trying unsuccessfully to bat away questing fingers that pried at his eyelids. "Geerrrrroooffffmmmeeee..."

"_...waking up..."_

"_...dehydrated... IV fluids... antibiotics..."_

"_...lungs sound congested..."_

"_...pyrexia... 104..."_

Sam weakly rolled his head away and whimpered when something small but cold pressed over his abdomen, then the left side of his chest, then the right...

"Noooooosssstopplease?!" He was more annoyed than anything right then, just wanted to be left alone to sleep. But annoyance soon turned to panic when he cracked open an eye, only to see the big plastic mask descending over his face. "NOOOOOOOOOO! No! No! Don't..."

Sam shook his head from side to side in desperate avoidance, but it was no use. The plastic monster was attached to his face and fastened tight, _about to suck the very life out of him, or impregnate him with some alien being, leave some kind of egg in his tummy that would later crack open his chest only to go on a blood thirsty rampage then infect his brother father_ _ohgodwhatiftheywerealreadyinfected..._

It was becoming a full blown panic attack as the fever ravaged his mind and body, and then the coughing began. What had been a dry tickle in the back of his throat for most of the past week finally burst its banks and let loose with a full on phlegm ridden _"Horrrronnkkk..."_ and went on, and on, and on, until Sam was left slumped against the pillows, lips gradually turning blue from lack of oxygen. And that only made him panic all the more. Hands scrabbled at the blankets in a _clutch-release, clutch-release _rhythm,

_Ohpleasegodletmebreathe!_

Mouth wide open, eyes scrunched shut, Sam tried so hard but nothing was coming in, his lungs all but frozen...

Then a voice, much closer to his ear, suddenly spoke.

"Shhh, s'ok little bro. I won't let them hurt you, I promise. They're here to help. Just calm down, kiddo."

A gentle hand smoothed through his hair and another cupped the back of his neck, tilting his head back and opening his airway.

_Dean._

Sam's breathing became a little easier, and that wild panic began to release its tight hold on him.

"_That's great, Dean. Well done. We're gonna give him something to help get his temperature down."_

"_Can I stay with him?" _Dean's voice sounded a little further away now, as though he'd raised his head, but Sam could still hear the steely determination behind the soft dulcet tones. Regardless of the answer, Sam's big brother was going nowhere.

"_Of course. Poor kid's scared and confused right now... all these unfamiliar sights and sounds..."_

Sam drifted off under a haze of exhaustion and medication, content to be left in his brother's care.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dr Middleton guessed he was in for a long night when his young patient began panicking, and damn near suffocated, in spite of the oxygen mask. It was clear the youngster was scared of the thing but, unfortunately, he needed it with his sats as low as they were. Lucky for both patient and doctor, the older brother had burst into the room, strode over to the bed, lowered his mouth to his little brother's ear and set about whispering to the poor kid. No one knew what was said, but the doc would've paid a lot of money to find out as the effect was instantaneous. The sick youngster quieted down, his breathing evened out, and the horrendous wheezing didn't seem quite so bad.

The doc wondered how he'd known. There were a least two sets of double doors between the waiting area and Sam's treatment room. So unless the older kid had x-ray vision...

He shook his head and leaned against the door frame, watching the youngster's now peaceful slumber, his brother reading quietly from a book. It was just after midnight but no amount of bribery, blackmail, or threats had persuaded Dean to leave and get some sleep of his own. He wouldn't even take the time for a ten minute snooze.

It wasn't the first time the doctor had seen such a bond between siblings, but usually it occurred in identical twins. There was around a four year age gap between these two and yet, even unconscious, the kid knew his brother was with him and even squeezed his hand whenever Dean quietly cracked a joke.

_Incredible._ Doc Middleton couldn't help smiling. The brothers made Bambi and Thumper look like amateurs in the cute stakes.

"Dr Middleton?" a very anxious John Winchester appeared next to him in the door way. "Is he ok?"

The doc turned to the older guy. "The antibiotics are working just fine, though I'm still a little worried about his oxygen sats," he sighed, tiredly. It had been a long shift. "They're proving a little hard to stabilise."

A few hours after Sam's admission, the doc had a diagnosis in hand. Blood work from Biochemistry, Haematology and Microbiology indicated the presence of infection and resulting severe inflammation, but the x-rays had revealed shadows on both lungs.

Doc Middleton's earlier announcement of bronchial pneumonia had almost floored the Winchesters. They'd known Sammy was sick, but they hadn't expected _this. _John's eyes had widened, stricken with fear and guilt, whereas Dean had slid down the wall, the blood quickly draining from his face.

"Surely there's something else you can do," John interrupted the doc's thoughts, tone not quite pleading but in a pretty close approximation. "I mean," he waved a hand vaguely at the bank of monitors surrounding his son. "We brought him in as soon as we realised, but he couldn't have been sick for long... we'd have noticed before now. " But he didn't sound all that convinced.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Cabot," Dr Middleton glanced at him with sympathy. "But given the state he was in when you brought him here, I'd have to guess he'd been getting sick with flu for at least a week. Think back, there may only have been little signs... excess tiredness, loss of appetite, mood swings even..." he watched John's face closely, taking in the slowly growing frustration. "Some people just won't own up when things get bad."

"No," John shook his head, mouth curled in self-disgust. "I-I didn't spot anything... but then, I guess I wasn't looking too hard."

Heaving a tired sigh of his own, the father moved into the room, eyes never leaving his children. Dean had finally succumbed to exhaustion, head resting on his arms, slumped on Sam's bed.

"Wanna talk about it?" the doc invited, pulling up another couple of chairs and offering one to John.

Pinching the bridge of his nose for a long moment, John spoke softly. "Dean and I have been kinda busy, working in the local garage, over time..." he shrugged. "What with Christmas coming up and all, we were just trying to raise a little more cash."

John smiled sadly. "Christmas ain't really something we've ever celebrated since my wife... passed away." He winced, well aware he was about to touch on territory even Dean had no knowledge of, and lowered his voice. "It was going to be different this year. I was determined to give my boys a Christmas to remember. It was meant to be a surprise."

And yeah, it _was_ stretching the truth a little. John had been too busy to notice whether or not his sons were getting enough to eat, enough sleep… but although lying was the name of the game with John Winchester, it wasn't _all_ bullshit. He _had_ been planning to stick around for Christmas with his sons this year. Just a small tree, and few decorations, and a decent present each for the boys.

"Well," the doc cleared his throat quietly. "There's no reason why you still can't. Once Sam's feeling better..."

"No," John dropped his chin. "When you and Dean were in here with Sam, I got a call from the garage." His eyes closed for the briefest moment. "They wanted us to come in and work some extra hours... until late tonight, but when I said no and told 'em about Sam, they... fired us."

Definitely not a lie. John still couldn't believe the asshole owner of Tommo's Motors had let them go for this, after everything he and Dean had done for the guy, putting in extra hours on basic pay and coming in a couple hours early some mornings. The minute John needed a favour in return, even after explaining his youngest kid was real sick in hospital, Tommo turned his back on him.

The doc nodded, not entirely surprised. That was the way of it in their ramshackle, hardnosed town, and often wondered why he'd bothered staying as long as he had. People here were small minded, selfish and cold. Perhaps he'd hoped to change them somehow, and the thought made him laugh. He'd grown up in this place, moved away to attend medical school, and returned some years later to find the mean old town hadn't changed much in all that time. What on God's Earth had made him think a lowly paediatrician could ever have made a difference?

"Mr. Cabot, Sam's going to be here for at least six weeks, given the severity of the pneumonia," the doc murmured, an idea forming. "He'll need oxygen therapy during that time."

"Yeah," John nodded, heart sinking. This didn't sound good.

"I hear the hospital is looking for a night janitor," said the doc, glancing at his watch. "I could put in a good word for you."

John sat bolt upright and stared at the guy. "You'd do that for me? A total stranger?"

"I'll call the head of domestic services first thing in the morning," the doctor smiled at John's shocked face.

"I-I don't know what to say…" John stammered out and shook the guy's hand, gratefully. "Thank you, Dr Middleton. I really appreciate this."

"It's Connor, and don't thank me yet," Connor got to his feet, quietly. "You haven't met the Super." He shuddered, dramatically. "Ornery old bastard!"

John smirked. "I feel sure my sons could come up with some pretty choice descriptions of their old man right now."

Connor grinned but didn't comment. "I'd best finish my rounds. I'll get one of the nurses to bring in a few blankets for you and Dean." He turned to go when John called softly.

"Thanks again, Connor. I really appreciate this."

"Don't mention it."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Authors Notes:**_

_**Many apologies for not replying to your wonderful reviews for the final chapter of Drunk and disorderly. I sat down and started replying this afternoon, and then after a few replies for older fics, this error message appeared. It just won't let me reply to you guys:.**_

**"Oops! You have reached an invalid page on the site."**

_**Hopefully the website will have sorted its shit out come tomorrow, but if not then please don't let it stop you from leaving a review for this story. It will be greatly appreciated, I promise you. **_

_**In fact, feeling a bit lonely now that I can't talk to anyone... (sniffs despondently).**_

_**Cheers my darlings.**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Too much too young**

**Chapter 2 and epilogue.**

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

John felt a huge weight lifted from his shoulders. The fake health insurance wouldn't last the six weeks needed for Sam's recovery that much he was certain about. Three weeks tops, he guessed. It would have to be enough, but John wasn't going to take anymore stupid risks with his son's health. As soon as the kid was fit to travel, the Cabot family would disappear, and the Winchesters would emerge at Singer Salvage, complete with oxygen tanks carefully _borrowed_ from the hospital stores.

He regretted lying to Connor Middleton, especially after the guy had been so kind and helpful. Apparently, he also persuaded the Super to arrange for a week's advance in John's wages, which helped secure their seedy apartment for a while longer. Though the sooner they all saw the back of that god forsaken place the better, as far as John and Dean were concerned.

Fortunately, Dean was also able to secure a part time job in the canteen, just clearing tables and fixing the odd broken down vending machines. There were at least six of these, and all of them decrepit and old, so he was never short of work. It meant he could also spend a good deal of the day with his little brother.

John bullied Dean into going home to get some proper sleep; he also sat down with him every lunch and evening in the staff canteen to make sure the kid ate properly. Dean had a voracious appetite under normal circumstances, but with his little brother so desperately ill he'd gone right off his food. He was like a big, loyal, German Shepherd pining away for his sick master.

John chuckled sadly at the analogy.

The Winchesters taking it in turns to head back to the apartment for some R&R meant that Sam was never left alone for very long throughout his stay.

Sam, of course, wasn't aware of much of this at first.

Drugged and bedridden, the poor kid shivered and wept, his body cruelly tortured by the pneumonia. On the odd occasion when he woke up half way lucid, he whimpered in pain and begged softly through his mask, though no one could make out what he was actually begging _for_.

Tired, watery blue green eyes would crack open and frantically search the room until they came to rest on his big brother. Finally with a measure of peace, the kid would begin to relax and slide back into sleep.

Though he was improving, the mask had to stay on morning, noon and night, his body fed IV nutrients and heavy weight antibiotics. He either slept or stared blankly at the TV on the wall, not really paying attention.

"Hey Sammy? I'm back," a grinning Dean would announce from the door, leaning casually on the frame, and just like that, his little brother's eyes would light up.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Less than a week later, Sam still tried to avoid talking about it, but Dean refused to stay quiet.

"Sam, I know I let you down…"

"Dean…"

"Just hear me out, ok? I let you down, badly," Dean stared at him and squeezed his shoulder. "There was me thinking I was above petty squabbles. And instead of watching out for you, I fobbed you off and let you get sick."

Sam shook his head weakly. "You didn't _let_ anything happen, Dean…"

"Yeah, I did," Dean nodded his head, emphatically, determined to have it his way and take responsibility for Sam's predicament. "It's my job to keep you safe, and I didn't even notice I was failing until I found you passed out in the bathroom." He smiled, sadly. "You took a pretty good whack to the head, by the way. No concussion, though. Lucky you're a hard headed Winchester, huh?"

Sam just sighed and smiled back, eyelids at half mast.

But it seemed their father had a few things to say on the matter, because suddenly a tall figure loomed over the boys, arms folded, and face unreadable. They hadn't even heard him enter the room.

"Dean's not the only one who needs to make an apology here," said John, softly. "In fact, he needs no apology at all."

Sam glanced up warily and swallowed hard, feeling sure he was about to get both barrels. But instead, his father crouched down beside the bed and gently grasped both Sam's hands.

"You tried to tell me you weren't feeling well," John rubbed the kid's fingers. "And I ignored you, flat out. As your father, it was my responsibility alone. Instead, I made you feel even worse, huh? Hell, Sammy, I virtually called you selfish." He regarded Sam quizzically for a few long moments. "You _were_ going to tell us? Right, Sam?"

Sure, the kid had asked for a reprieve. One night off from the hunt, so to speak. But that wouldn't have been enough, not with pneumonia. Had Sam been covering up the seriousness of his illness that night?

Sam nodded, slowly. "Y-yeah, but I didn't know how bad it was gonna get, I swear," he gazed mournfully at his father, and a lone tear slipped over one cheek. "I just thought one early night would be enough… I'm sorry I'm not tough like you guys, but I was just _so_ tired. School was getting on my back about late homework, and there j-just di-didn't seem enough hours in the d-day… and I-I…"

He erupted into a powerful hacking cough, face reddening with the effort and eyes streaming. One hand came up to clutch at his chest, the other gripped John's hand in desperation. Sam's struggle to breathe had Dean climbing on the bed, and pulling his little brother into a sitting position, with their father rubbing the poor kid's back.

"Easy Sammy," John whispered, watching the boy anxiously, helping him get his breathing back under control. "Calm down. You've nothing to be sorry for, ok? It's my fault for pushing you too hard, for not even taking the time to notice just how bad things were getting for you."

Sam tried to heave in a large lungful of oxygen, eyes rolling wildly in panic when it just didn't seem enough.

"S'ok now. Just relax… you'll feel better soon," Dean kept up the gentle encouragement, hands kneading and rubbing Sam's shoulders and neck. "C'mon, slow it down, buddy…"

He grimaced at the wet, squelching noises of mucous and phlegm catching in Sam's chest, reached over to the nightstand, and grabbed a handful of Kleenex. Whipping off the oxygen mask, Dean held the tissue under Sam's mouth and watched in dismay when the kid coughed up a mouthful of gunk.

_Ewwwww_.

But he couldn't deny it seemed to ease his little brother's breathing. The mask went straight back on and the boy was allowed to rest against his pillows again, blinking heavily up at his family. Clearly worn out, the youngest Winchester was asleep in seconds.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

It was John's turn for the apartment. He hadn't wanted to leave in light of Sam's distress but Dean wanted to stay with his little brother. It was only fair.

John really hadn't thought about how much time Sam was putting into the family, but now it was brought up, he had some serious thinking to do…

Sam had been through every hunt, prepared each evening meal, researched for his father and brother when asked… and each morning John found a clean, freshly laundered pile of clothes waiting for him.

_Where the hell's my head been these last few weeks? Up my ass? What was I thinking?_

He was damned sure it wasn't Dean's doing; his oldest son claimed he was allergic to Laundromats. But one look at Dean's white face after Sam nearly coughed up a lung, assured John that would no longer be a problem.

Sam's homework hadn't entered into the hunting equation; and it really _should've_ done. Education was important, however reluctant John felt about it. Aside from teaching his sons important research skills, and acquiring essential knowledge, keeping Sam in school meant keeping him safe. The thought of his youngest son roaming the streets all day, vulnerable and alone whilst he and Dean went to work, just didn't sit right.

Fact was, he hated this town, and not just because of the sour faced residents. It was dull and miserable, with no sense of community spirit; not that it really mattered to John, but it sure mattered to his sons. Even Dean seemed depressed and under the weather since coming here, and not his usual charming, flirtatious self.

Not that there was much to flirt with. The female population fell into two categories: Sam's age, or old enough to be his grandmother. And to Dean's disgust, that small fact hadn't stopped either from trying it on with him. From jail bait to elderly home escapees; the last straw had been one particularly wrinkled octogenarian apparently trying to thank the boy for fixing her old Cadillac. And it really made quite a sight, Dean screaming and racing for the exit, with the old girl trailing after him, all lecherous intent and gummy kiss at the ready.

As far as Dean was concerned it was the stuff nightmares were made of.

John chuckled and sank back on the bed, still fully clothed.

No. As soon as Sam was well enough they were leaving.

'_Bout time I started looking after my boys properly._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Once Sam was ready for solid food, the mask came off at meal times, but getting the kid to eat proved just as challenging for John as it had been with Dean. In the end, it took both father and big brother, perched on either side of the bed and threatening all kinds of retribution for Sam to finally take a small slurp of his chicken soup.

"There," Sam leaned back tiredly into his pillows, dark half circles still worryingly prominent under his eyes. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic," replied Dean, sarcastically. "But it ain't enough." He waggled a finger under his brother's nose. "You want me to spoon feed ya? 'Cause I'll do it!"

"Dean…"

"I mean it, Sam."

"Fine!" Another spoonful of soup went the same way, but Dean was still glaring at him, arms folded, foot tapping… Sam sighed and scratched his nose. The dreaded mask was gone but now he suffered a tube under his nose. It was an improvement but not by much. Summoning his patience, he sipped at more soup until his hand grew shaky with the effort.

John nodded in quiet approval, then grabbed a straw from the nightstand and dropped it into the bowl. It wasn't ideal but it had to be more dignified for the poor kid than having his brother feed him like a baby. "You did good, Sam, but you ain't gonna get better if you don't eat some more."

"Yes sir," Sam responded, dolefully. The soup actually wasn't half bad, but to an ailing Winchester with no appetite it was as daunting as trying to climb a mountain. Still, he sucked at the straw for a little while longer until his family was satisfied he'd eaten enough.

"Atta boy." Dean ruffled his hair and grinned. "You sure you don't want the chocolate sponge? Smells pretty good." He virtually licked his chops and eyed the dessert hungrily.

Sam grinned back. His brother probably didn't even realize what he was doing.

"Go ahead, Dean. I've had enough. I eat anymore and I'll be sick."

John smothered a snort when his oldest boy glanced guiltily his way, obviously seeking approval. Instead he nodded gravely. "Go ahead. No point in wasting it."

Sam and John watched in fond amusement whilst Dean attacked the cardboard container with a spoon, gulped down great mouthfuls with barely a swallow, finished it up with a loud, appreciative _belch_ and almost genteelly laid the spoon back on Sam's moveable table.

Dean grinned happily from ear to ear. "Town sure sucks, but the hospital food is edible. Go figure, huh?"

"Can I go back to sleep now?" Sam just managed around a yawn.

His father frowned, and nodded. "Just a second," John settled both arms on Sam's bed. "I know you still have a ways to go before you're one hundred percent, but how dya feel about heading out for Uncle Bobby's tonight?"

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise, but said nothing. Two and a half weeks into Sam's hospital stay and the Winchester's were pushing their luck with the fake health insurance; however, with John and Dean both working on site no one was looking too closely, but it was only a matter of time.

Sam studied his dad's face. "Uh… sure, Dad."

_Kid's not stupid_. John smiled. "Don't worry, Sam. I'm gonna make the ride as comfortable as possible for ya, ok?" he patted the boy's knee. "I'll go make the arrangements. Now get some sleep."

Dean clearly wasn't happy, judging by the slight pinch to his eyes and mouth, but there was little choice in the matter. A few hours later, John came back into the room to find Sam fast asleep and Dean frowning worriedly.

"Dad?"

"I know what you're gonna say, son. And believe me, I agree with ya," replied John and squeezed the back of Dean's neck. "But it's time to move on. Bobby's expecting us, we have all the medical equipment we're gonna need, and I've set up a bed in the rear seat of the Impala for Sammy. It's not perfect, but I think he'll be comfortable. Connor assures me his fever's down and his sats are up…" he shrugged.

Dean sighed and watched his brother sleep. "Yeah…"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

In spite of Dean's reluctance, it actually worked out very well. The _Impalabed,_ as Sam came to call it, was indeed extremely comfortable. Heaps of soft blankets and pillows, carefully positioned under his back and legs, kept him snug and warm, and meant he could easily raise himself up should he suffer more coughing. John had also positioned an oxygen tank in one of the foot wells, with stern orders for Sam to use it should he feel light headed or start wheezing again.

Sam slept well for most of the journey with only one or two coughing incidents. Dean, sneaky bastard that he is, waited until Sam was in a deep sleep before pulling over and hooking the oxygen tube under the kid's nose. No doubt his little brother would grouch at him when he woke up again later, but Dean didn't care so long as he could breathe.

After two days of driving, John following on behind the boys in his truck, and one overnight stop, Singer Salvage was a welcome sight for the little family.

Bobby must've heard the noise of duel engines on the approach because he was waiting outside for them when they pulled up. He was about to yell a greeting when Dean alighted first, but the boy silently shushing him instantly changed his mind. Instead, Bobby waited close by whilst Dean quietly opened the rear passenger door, ducked inside, and emerged a few short minutes later with a sleeping, blanket wrapped Sammy Winchester in his arms.

Bobby gazed fondly at the kids with a raised eyebrow. _Anything I can do?_

Dean indicated the tube running round Sam's face, and mouthed _tank_, then nodded towards the rear seats just as John reached in through the other window and grabbed some of Sam's pillows.

Any communication was carried out with hand signals, gestures and miming. Dean, led by Bobby, carried his little brother into the house, up the stairwell, and into a twin bedroom. The same room the brothers always used when visiting Bobby Singer and, as usual, Sam was settled in the bed furthest from the door.

"How they both holdin' up?" asked Bobby after he and John made their way back downstairs to the kitchen. It was time for lunch and, once again, soup was on the agenda, though this time it was Bobby's special recipe: minted lamb and vegetable.

John sighed and began slicing up a loaf of bread in the hopes he could persuade Sam to eat a little more this time. The knife suddenly dropped to the table at the same time as the senior Winchester sunk abruptly into a chair, his legs near enough giving out.

"Truth is, they're doin' a fuck sight better than me," he whispered and glanced up at his old friend. "I screwed up, Bobby. Real bad."

Bobby being Bobby, wasn't about to let him off the hook either. "Yep. You sure did."

John nodded and looked down at the table, accepting the guy's agreement. A shot of whisky suddenly appeared in front of him.

"Figure you could use that about now," Bobby shrugged as John stared at it. "Long journey an' all."

But John sensed this for the test it really was. And he knew he'd failed again when the whisky was burning its way down his throat a second later. The neck of the bottle clinked against the shot glass again, and John shook his head, pushing it away from him.

"Enough," he said, softly. "Enough, now."

Bobby screwed the lid back on the bottle and nodded approvingly. "That's the best damn decision you've made in a while, John. 'Part from comin' here o'course." He grinned wryly.

Running a hand over his face, John grinned back, picked up the knife and resumed cutting up the bread.

With nothing more needed to be said, the two hunters worked on preparing lunch in a comfortable silence.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

An hour later the soup was ready, the pleasant smell wafting round the house, and Sam was awake, blinking at his surroundings and wondering where he was. Dean was fast asleep on the next bed, and it wasn't until Sam spotted the familiar curtains and scarred old wardrobes that he recognized the room and smiled. He barely remembered the journey, apart from the odd coughing fit, a few stops for food, and a night in a motel, but somehow here they were at Uncle Bobby's.

Sam could hear two people roaming around downstairs and the smell of mint and lamb was making his mouth water. When his stomach actually _grumbled_ Sam's smile widened. It had definitely been a while since he last felt genuinely hungry, and surprisingly enough, it felt good. _Normal._

Footsteps on the staircase soon had Dean snorting awake like a warthog, eyes half open and sleepy, nose twitching and snuffling like a blood hound. "Food…" he mumbled, still half asleep, sniffing appreciatively.

Sam chuckled and regretted it a second later. His lungs had a few things to say about laughing at this stage of his recovery, and made it quite plain that comedic moments were not appreciated. It was Sam's painful coughing that pulled Dean the rest of the way out of sleep.

"Sammy?"

Eyes scrunched shut, and hacking loudly, Sam nevertheless still felt the tube under his nose being pulled off and replaced with the mask. Gentle hands rolled him onto his side and rubbed his back.

"Shhhhh, s'ok," all sleep had been cleared from Dean's voice by this time, and Sam's lungs gradually settled down again. "That's it... easy does it. Feeling better, little bro?"

Sam nodded, opened his eyes and pulled down the mask. "Yeah, much better. Thanks, Dean."

Dean shrugged him off without a word, just ruffled the kid's hair. He didn't need or want thanks. He just wanted his little brother well again.

Evidently Sam's coughing attack had been heard because the footsteps on the stairwell sped up a little, and Bobby and John appeared in the doorway, each holding a large tray of steaming bowls and fresh bread.

"Everything ok up here, boys?" John asked, worriedly taking Sam's pale face and the oxygen mask hanging off his chin. "Sam?"

"I'm ok, Dad, just try not to make me laugh too much." Sam grinned and eyed the trays. "That for me?"

Bobby and John had settled on joining Sam and Dean for lunch in the boys' bedroom. There was a desk under the main window that served for the older hunters, whilst the brothers were happy to stay on their beds. Or _in_ it, in Sam's case.

"So, what you got planned for the next few weeks?" Bobby enquired of the youngest Winchester.

"Uh…" Sam frowned. He hadn't really thought about it. "I guess I should catch up on my schoolwork, and there's always research to do…"

John let out a soft angry growl before clearing his throat, making Dean look up in surprise. "I've organized a strict timetable and program for these two."

Two things happened. Dean's eyes hardened, about to go supernova, and Sam's face fell.

But John wasn't finished. Voice softened, mouth quirking up into a fond smile, he went on to describe a rich and punishing schedule of "extreme bed rest, plenty of cartoons, three meals a day," two young jaws dropped open in shock "and when you're feeling better, Sammy, we're taking you both fishing."

"Fishing?" Sam and Dean said in unison, and glanced at each other.

"Yep," Bobby nodded in agreement. "S'great for relaxation. And you boys could sure use some."

"Um, don't you think with all the bed rest and all, I'll be relaxed enough?" Sam asked quietly. "And my schoolwork won't complete itself…"

"Don't even think it, kid." Bobby shook his head and tutted in warning. "You're Daddy's been on the _internet,_ and done some reading whilst you boys were asleep." He tapped his nose. "Guy knows all about taking things easy after a serious illness. Don't think ya gonna change his mind, kids."

Dean groaned and slapped a hand over his eyes. "You let him on the computer? Oh man! Always a bad move!"

"Hey!" John protested, sounding a little hurt.

"Yeah, you know the kind of trouble he gets into on there?" Sam demanded and pointed at his father accusingly in that very special way that suggested, whatever had happened, no child had ever been so subject to parental embarrassment like it, before or since. "Remember when he was looking for a demonic dentist in Massachusetts last year?"

"Oh I remember all right!" Dean scowled in remembrance. "Right in the middle of a public library, _Dad_ decides to narrow the search down by typing in _oral_."

There was a stunned silence and Bobby's eyebrows, always the most expressive part of his face, rose to his hairline.

Dean nodded, glaring at his Dad, who was by now trying not to laugh in the face of his son's anger. "Not only that, but the search results pop up _just_ as the hot librarian walked by us. Believe me when I say that no ghost or wendigo has _ever_ made me run as fast as I did that day!"

"I wonder if there's a poster somewhere," Sam bit his lip, thoughtfully. "'Have you seen this man? Wanted for perversion and visiting illegal porn sites in public libraries.'"

"Dude!" Dean exclaimed in disgust, ignoring Bobby's poorly concealed snort of laughter. "That's our _Dad_ you're talkin' 'bout!"

"Aw, c'mon Dean," John was full on grinning by now. "It was an accident!"

"Even so," Sam turned to Bobby. "Might be wise if you delete all cookies and clear history under internet explorer properties, just in case."

"You just eat your food, youngster," Bobby responded, choking back more laughter. "There's plenty left if you're still hungry."

Dean shut his mouth at that and went back to feasting on the delicious soup, hoping for a second helping - after his little brother, of course.

As it turned out, there was enough for third helpings all round, though Sam couldn't finish his second bowlful; content with listening to the soft drone of voices around him, he drifted off to sleep again.

Dean chuckled, took the half empty bowl from Sam's lap before it spilled everywhere, and tenderly checked the kid's forehead for fever. Satisfied his little brother was still making progress, he turned to his Dad with relieved grin.

"I think he's taking this whole relaxing thing seriously, huh Dad?"

John smiled. "Yeah. He's a fast learner," he pointed to Dean's own bed. "You too, sport."

Dean's mouth fell open. "What? I'm not the one who got sick, Dad! And I'm not even tired!"

"Maybe so, but it's not worth the risk," John replied, firmly. "You've been looking after Sam, and working hard, and I ain't about to see you go downhill either. Now git!"

He could see by the mutinous expression on the boy's face Dean was dying to argue, but years of obeying orders without question were too deeply engrained.

"Yes sir."

He turned and shuffled over to his bed, dropped down onto his side facing Sam, and crossed his arms.

Bobby and John carried on talking quietly, and before Dean knew what was happening, he felt himself sliding away into a restful slumber.

…_more tired than I thought…_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**A month later...**_

Sam sat back in the canvas chair and closed his eyes. The sun was warm on his face, his lungs were almost fully recovered from pneumonia, and he'd never felt so rested.

"Hey, Sammy!" his brother's voice came from somewhere nearby, and Sam turned his head towards him. "I think I got a bite!"

"Cool!" Sam opened his eyes and sat upright to watch, wondering if Dean would get it right this time. It had amazed him that his older brother, who excelled at marksmanship, archery, tracking, orienteering and all the various other cool traits needed by hunters, proved completely hopeless when it came to fishing.

Sam, on the other hand, appeared to have a natural talent for it and tonight's supper was swimming around inside the net at Sam's feet. He couldn't help feel a little proud of himself. For once he could be the provider, instead of his brother having to do it.

_Mind you. Dean seems quite happy_…

And it was true. The older brother had fallen into the lake more times than Sam could count, yet it still didn't deter him, even seemed to amuse him. Sam silently believed Dean actually did it on purpose; the water was fresh off the mountains and only just above freezing temperatures. But he never seemed to feel the cold, and carried on diving underneath the surface whenever he caught sight of movement below.

_Splosh!_

Sam grinned. "You ok there dude?"

"M'fine!" Dean spluttered, ejected water from his nose, then proudly held aloft a large rainbow coloured trout. "Got the bastard!" he turned it this way and that, letting the sunlight reflect off the scales. "Ain't he a beauty?"

"Uh, Dean? I think you've missed the point of all this," Sam tilted his head to one side, observing his brother's grin. "You're supposed to _relax_ and let them come to you."

"Nah," Dean shook his head, spraying water everywhere. "Where's the fun in that?"

Sam eyed him, curiosity winning out. "How'd ya _really _catch it?"

"I tickled it," Dean announced matter-of-factly.

"You _tickled_… a _fish?_" Sam gaped, and shook his head. "What the…?"

"S'an old poachers trick, Sammy," Dean hauled himself over to the bank and dropped the trout into Sam's net. "Pretty useful to know if you find yaself without a rod."

So Dean had abandoned the civilized methods in favour of something more primeval, and Sam couldn't for the life of him understand why that surprised him.

"Does that mean ya gonna eat it raw?" Sam grimaced at the thought, a little relieved when Dean's own face scrunched up.

"Nah, dude." Dean shuddered. "Sushi just ain't my thing,"

"Boys! You caught some fish yet? We're starvin'!" John's voice called out from the cabin behind them. "And bring water back with ya. Need to boil some up to bathe in tonight."

"Comin' right up!" Dean hollered back.

He began to reach for the gallon drums they'd brought with them for carrying water, when an idea struck him. "Hey, Sammy?"

"Uhuh?" Sam glanced at his brother, wondering what he had in mind when he saw the evil grin. "What?"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Run Sammy, run!" Dean laughed and bounded away, dropping the now empty gallon drum. Behind him, swearing profusely and threatening violence, John and Bobby were giving chase, soaked to the skin with the freezing lake water, whilst Sam stood by, laughing helplessly.

Given his recent illness, the younger Winchester was relatively safe from retribution for now. But Dean… oh dear.

"_What the hell?" _

Dean's voice was coming from the wrong direction… from what Sam could make out, he was nowhere near the lake. The only thing he recalled seeing back there was a herd of cows and a large pile of manure right by the irrigation ditch…Sam's grin widened.

"_Oh no you don't… hey hey hey, getoffmeeeee!"_

_Sqqquuuelllllch!_

"_AW MAN!"_

"_Quit whining. This stuffs s'posed to be great for the skin." _That was Bobby's small pearl of wisdom.

"_Nothing like a face pack, huh Dean?" _And this was John, followed shortly by another long _Sqqquuuelllllch!_

"_Splunoffavitch!!!!"_

It really didn't take a genius to translate _that_ one.

Raucous laughter filled the evening air and Sam could hear the older hunters heading back towards the cabin… towards _Sam_ in fact.

The grin disappeared in an instant. They wouldn't risk throwing a recovering pneumonia sufferer into the lake, but a steaming pile of cow shit?

Sam shook his head in resignation and didn't even try to run. "They'll probably think its therapeutic or something…"

_**The End.**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

_**Hope you all enjoyed the angst, Sick Sammy, and finally the family fun and frollicks.**_

_**So did the fishing scene seem familiar to anyone?**_

_**And did you spot the reference to an old Kenny Everett joke involving the Bee Gees? **_

_**Demonic dentists… Massachusetts? Get it?**_

_**Also adapted from an episode of My Family.**_

_**Yeah, it's old, but I still find it funny!**_

_**As usual, pay no attention to medical facts; there aren't any. **_

_**This was intended to be much shorter as a story, but it kinda grew on me again.**_

_**Cheers everyone.**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


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